


Mourning Never Comes

by jibber_jabber



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Backstory, Character Study, Cunnilingus, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, F/F, Face-Sitting, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Markarth (Elder Scrolls), Masturbation, Oral Sex, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/pseuds/jibber_jabber
Summary: When she accepted the contract out of Markarth, Astrid didn’t expect sweet-as-pie Muiri to be the one who had performed the Sacrament. But as all the best assassins know, the loveliest flowers sometimes have the sharpest thorns.
Relationships: Astrid/Muiri (Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Mourning Never Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanda von dunayev (wandavon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandavon/gifts).



Night was fading by the time Astrid passed Rorikstead, the sun beginning its slow ascent over the horizon and painting the sky an obnoxious, eye-searing pink. She tugged on Shadowmere’s reins, leading her off the road. Shadowmere whinnied.

“Easy, girl,” Astrid murmured, and stroked her fine dark mane.

They’d have to make camp for the day, preferably in a nearby cave. It simply wouldn’t do for the leader of the last remaining chapter of the Dark Brotherhood to travel by light. People like her worked in the shadows, bathed in them, drank them in like a fine wine. As dawn reached its peak, Astrid dismounted her horse and led them both into a cave far from the main roads, nestled in the side of a mountain. Cool air hit her face as they walked in, and she scanned the interior for signs of other life. Finding none, she released Shadowmere from her saddle and bridle and rolled out her sleeping bag. Water dripped from hanging moss.

Despite the weariness settling in her bones from the night’s travels, Astrid couldn’t sleep. Anticipation hummed through her at the thought of meeting the one who’d performed the Sacrament. It had been ages since she took on a contract herself, with her leadership duties taking up most of her time. She missed the thrill of the hunt and the feel of a cool blade slitting the victim’s throat. She rolled onto her back and watched shadows dance across the stone.

Yes, she thought. She needed this.

* * *

Astrid slipped into Markarth just as evening arrived, dressed in her commoners’ clothes—a simple pair of cloth breeches and a leather tunic. She rubbed the thin, scratchy fabric between her fingers and sighed. Wearing anything aside from her Brotherhood armor made her itch. In her left hand, she had a pickaxe; it was nothing compared to her dagger, the favored Blade of Woe (which was currently tucked in a secret location on her person) but would do in a pinch.

The marketplace bustled with activity, people browsing the wares and chatting amongst themselves. What a cheerful little scene, Astrid thought bitterly. But as her senses sharpened, she realized that something awful was about to happen. A woman in a blue dress leaned over a stall to inspect a necklace, one with a gleaming sapphire hanging from its chain. At the same time, a man crept behind her, knife in hand. Astrid bit down on her lip. He raised the blade and sunk it into the woman’s back.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!” he cried, plunging the knife in deeper.

Then he pulled the blade from her body, blood spurting out of her wound as she collapsed to the ground. His bloody knife clattered on the cobblestones as he sprinted past the guards and out the city gates, now armed only with his fists and his pride. Onlookers shrieked and ran, while the Markarth guard swarmed the deceased, looking around cluelessly for the escaped criminal.

Astrid turned her face so no one would see her smile.

The Hag’s Cure was a rather impressive shop, spacious and clean, with ingredients of all varieties and colors peppering the shelves. The older woman behind the counter, who Astrid had managed to gather from eavesdropping around town was known as Bothela, uncorked a vial and poured it into a red glass bottle. 

“Hello there,” she greeted, voice raspy. “The Hag’s Cure is here for all of your discreet needs.”

Astrid’s lips curved upwards. “Very good.” She took a pointed glance around, registering the pretty little Breton brewing potions in the back. So that was who had performed the Black Sacrament. “I’d like a word with your assistant, if you don’t mind.”

Bothela shrugged. “Be my guest. Muiri’s at the alchemy table over there.”

Muiri was still hard at work making her potions, pale green liquid bubbling in a nearby pot when Astrid approached. She was young, slight, but the cling of her beige dress revealed delicate curves underneath. Astrid paused, taking a moment to admire the sight. Although she tried to maintain a professional demeanor during most contracts, she occasionally allowed herself the indulgence of observing a beautiful man or woman.

“Muiri?” she finally said. “I believe you have a request for someone with my… skill set.”

Muiri turned. Astrid smiled.

“Oh, you’re—” Her eyes widened, voice dropping to a whisper. “The Sacrament. I can’t believe it actually worked.” She sounded like a child in a sweets shop, and Astrid’s grin widened. She loved when their patrons were so _enthusiastic_ about having a job completed.

And she certainly didn’t miss the way her contract’s eyes flickered up and down her body, so quickly she might have missed it if she were an ordinary person. Her gaze was sweet, but her golden eyes held a hint of something sinister, too. A darkness was buried within her, and Astrid wanted to bring out those shadows.

“I didn’t expect someone so pretty and demure to be the one who requested our services.” She stepped closer and brushed her fingertips along her jaw, smirking at the way Muiri’s eyes fluttered closed. “Perhaps we could discuss the details in a more… private location?”

Muiri nodded. “Yes. My chambers will be suitable.” She straightened, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. Although the fabric was plain and colorless, it looked soft to the touch. Astrid’s fingers twitched.

She followed Muiri past the front counter, where Bothela shot them a wary look, and up the stairs, into a room with little but a wardrobe, a bed, and a wooden end table. On the end table’s surface sat a silver dagger, clean and hardly used. _What a shame_ , Astrid thought. _Waste of a perfectly good dagger_. The door clicked shut behind her. Muiri turned on her heel, back to the door. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Alain Dufont must die like the dog he is,” she said sharply.

And there it was, that lurking darkness.

Astrid set her pickaxe down, then drew the Blade of Woe from its hiding place. She ran a finger along the edge, careful not to cut the skin, and observed the silver and red sheen with something like fondness. “Then die he shall,” she said. Her gaze flicked up towards Muiri. “May I ask why? Sometimes it helps if I understand a client’s true motive for wanting someone dead. Makes the job easier.”

Muiri pursed her lips. Crossed and uncrossed her arms a few times. When she sat down on the bed, she stared off to the side. “Have you ever been to Windhelm?”

“I’m familiar.”

“I used to be very close to an important family there,” she began. “The Shatter-Shields. There is a man in Windhelm that the city guard have been after for quite some time. He’s known as The Butcher. They say he targets women in the night, cuts them up and saves their body parts for gods-knows-what. He murdered their daughter, Friga.”

Astrid bristled. It was one thing to commit honorable murder, to deliver death to those who deserved it. It was another thing entirely to kill women like animals, to slaughter and maim their bodies for the pleasure of the self only. She folded her arms, tapping her fingers along her bicep. 

Muiri furrowed her brow as she watched Astrid tense.

“Go on,” Astrid coaxed, softening. She wanted to keep watching those pretty lips speak revenge.

“I was best friends with her twin sister, and we were grieving.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She glanced down, hands twisting in her lap. “I met Alain in the tavern, and he seemed like everything I needed at the time. He said I was a ‘beautiful lily’ from his dreams.” She snarled. “Bastard.”

“All men are bastards. It’s the first universal truth.”

Muiri nodded. “Yes, it does seem like that’s the case, doesn’t it?” Then she laughed.

Astrid waited patiently for her to continue.

Her smile faded. “Alain, he… used me,” she spat. “Pretended to love me, but he only wanted the Shatter-Shields’ money, and now that he’s robbed them blind, the Shatter-Shields turned on me. He’s a thief and a liar and a _fucking asshole_ , and I want him to pay for what he did.”

Her voice wobbled at the sentence’s end, and her hands came to rest on her upper arms, as if she were giving herself a hug. She still wasn’t looking at Astrid. 

Astrid strode across the room and placed her fingertips under Muiri’s chin, guiding her head back so that they were making eye contact. Heat coiled in Astrid’s stomach at the slightly frightened but hungry look Muiri gave her. She relished the feeling of power in looking down upon a person, of being able to hold their emotions in the palm of her hand and have them lapping out of it by the end of their encounter, and she had such intentions with this Breton who had charmed her so.

“Tell me, Muiri, do you miss him?”

At this, Muiri scoffed, pulling back so Astrid no longer touched her. “No.” She paused. “Sometimes, at night, I do miss his touch. The way we used to love. But it’s only a product of my own lust, not of any real emotions.” 

The warmth that had settled so deliciously in her center spread throughout Astrid’s entire body, and she felt, despite her usual control, a deep flush forming on her skin. She reached forward again, this time brushing a hand over Muiri’s waist. Astrid took the sigh from her lips as permission to continue, moving her touch lower so that she had a firm hold on her hips. She tightened her fingers and memorized the sharp intake of breath from Muiri, emblazoned it in her mind.

“Perhaps you need the touch of someone else,” Astrid said, voice deep and low.

Muiri swallowed again. “Perhaps.”

Astrid watched the movement of her throat, tracing it with her eyes. She smiled, close-lipped and sinister, then pulled away all at once. With her back to Muiri, she walked to the other side of the room so she was facing the wall. Her hands, she clasped behind her back.

“Alain Dufont will die, you can rest assured,” she said.

“I have full faith in you…” Muiri trailed off. “I just realized that I do not know your name.”

Her name? Such a personal and funny thing to ask. Astrid supposed not everyone was comfortable as she was working in anonymity. “You may call me Aria,” she finally answered. Her true name was a privilege reserved only for those she trusted enough to let into her Brotherhood. 

“Aria,” Muiri echoed, thoughtful.

On top of the wardrobe, Astrid spotted a coil of rope, braided together with a delicacy that suggested it was not used often. She thought that was quite a shame, as her lips twisted into another smile. There were so many uses for such an item. She took it. The rope was thick and tough, just long enough for what she had in mind. As she turned around, she found Muiri watching her with a cautious expression. The color spreading across her face and down her neck told Astrid everything she needed to know.

“I haven’t had an occasion to use that in quite some time,” she admitted.

“I am quite adept with knots,” Astrid replied, tracing the coarse material. “Would you like to test it out?”

Muiri exhaled. “Gods, yes.”

The transition from standing several feet apart to heated kiss was less than a second, as Astrid forced herself atop Muiri, kissing her fiercely. She set the rope down beside them, focused on running her hands along the smooth fabric of Muiri’s dress, its material bunching in the places Astrid was particularly eager to feel. They fell onto the bed, Astrid crawling on top and squeezing her sides with her thighs.

Muiri was more timid than Astrid, slowly drawing her touch from her shoulders all the way down to her backside. Tentatively, she skimmed a hand over her ass, then, at Astrid’s urging, squeezed, eliciting a groan from the assassin. “Aria,” Muiri breathed.

Astrid placed a finger to her lips. “Quiet, my dear.”

She retrieved the rope and guided Muiri so they were lying in the center of the bed, with Muiri just under the headboard.

“Strip,” Astrid ordered. 

Muiri nodded, breathless, and divested of her dress and undergarments. Astrid smiled and greedily took hold of both her breasts, the feel of them sending pleasure straight to her groin. Muiri cried as she placed a nipple between her teeth and nipped and sucked lightly, clutching at Astrid’s back. Her responding touch became more insistent, reaching under Astrid’s cloth shirt and feeling the warm skin there. Astrid shivered. She pulled back to take off her own clothing, dropping it all to the floor with a dramatic flick of the wrist.

The rope, she uncoiled in her grip, stretching and pulling it taut, giving Muiri a teasing glance. With deft hands, she pinned Muiri’s wrists above her head and tied them together in a knot. When she’d finished, Astrid stroked a finger down her face to her neck and between her breasts, feeling the goosebumps that arose on the soft skin. “I’m in control now. Is that alright with you?” Astrid was not in the business of having unwilling sex partners.

Muiri nodded, face flushed and gorgeous. “Yes,” she panted.

Astrid shifted up, thighs now cradling the sides of Muiri’s head. Then she lowered her body on to her face, meeting a delicate pink tongue that was now tracing patterns on her heat. “Good girl,” she praised, running a hand through Muiri’s hair. “Circles, just like that.”

Muiri obliged, moving her tongue in small circular motions around Astrid’s clit. Pressure built, and Astrid groaned as she thrust forward, eager for more of Muiri’s talented strokes. Muiri shifted in an attempt to move her arms, but Astrid pinned her forearms to the bed. 

“Easy, now,” she said soothingly. “Stay still for me, won’t you?” 

She nodded, but Astrid could feel her writhing beneath her, struggling against her restraints, and pleasure coiled and snapped in Astrid’s core at the sight of such disobedience. She sometimes enjoyed when partners proved her equal, filled with fierce desire, not willing to just take whatever she had to offer. Muiri pulled her mouth away from Astrid’s body to release a long moan. 

Astrid felt herself grow closer to her climax, like nearing the edge of a cliff, and traced teasing fingers up Muiri’s arms to where the knot was. She stroked the rope. “I’m going to release you now,” she said slowly, beginning to untie it. “And when I do, I want you to pleasure yourself for me.” She finished working the knot and pulled, freeing Muiri. With an extended, breathy sigh, Muiri brought her hands up to knead Astrid’s breasts and ass before bringing a hand to her own clit, stroking as she continued to please Astrid.

Watching Muiri come undone—the little breaths, sighs, moans—led Astrid to her own unraveling. She climaxed with another groan, her thighs clenching around that soft, slender body, and shuddered through her release. Then she sat back to watch the rest of the show, taking in how Muiri’s neck tightened the closer and closer she got to her own orgasm. Astrid reached forward, stroking her hair. “Yes, that’s it,” she coaxed. “Can you come for me?”

Come Muiri did, her climax much louder than Astrid’s, to the point where a person with more shame than Astrid might have been embarrassed. Instead, she reveled in it, proud of herself for reducing this beautiful woman to a writhing mess. 

They pulled apart after one last short kiss. Both of them were breathing heavily. Muiri smoothed a hand over the fur blanket on her bed, which now had a couple of wet spots on it.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “That wasn’t quite what I was expecting today.”

Astrid smiled. “I’m usually not.”

* * *

It was quiet after they finished. Astrid had pulled out her pipe, a long, red, and slender thing, and was blowing smoke circles in the air. The two of them lay side by side, gazing at the wooden rafters. Muiri was tucked into her side.

“Did I tell you that I also grew up in Windhelm?” Muiri said.

“No. Did you like it there?”

“Of course not.” She let out a bitter laugh. “It’s a horrible, cold, dirty city. I only liked it because I had friends there. Or people that I thought were my friends.” There was a rustling as she turned to fully face Astrid, her eyes wide and doll-like. Her hand fisted around the fur blanket covering them. “Could you… possibly do something else for me?”

“After your performance just now?” Astrid chuckled lowly. “I think I can oblige.”

Her grip tightened. “I want Nilsine Shatter-Shield dead as well.”

“Consider it done.”

Muiri smiled demurely, then rolled over to retrieve something from her bedside drawer—a small green bottle. She turned it over in her hands. “Lotus Extract. I made it myself,” she said, handing the bottle to Astrid. “Poison.”

“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?” Astrid brushed the thumb of her free hand over Muiri’s cheek. “I’m quite impressed.”

“There hasn’t been a day since I left Windhelm that I haven’t dreamed of this.”

A slow smirk crossed Astrid’s face. “Then I’m glad I can make your dreams come true.”

* * *

The night air was cool when Astrid left the shop, just the way she liked it. She stepped down from the shop’s front stoop and onto the rocky streets. Markarth glowed in the light of lanterns that danced above the doorways, and the rush of the waterfalls created a peaceful, steady hum as she snuck out of the city, ready to make the long journey to Windhelm. Shadowmere awaited her a little less than a mile from the hold, lurking quietly in the darkness. Astrid brushed a hand over her nose, smiling as she pressed her forehead against her smooth coat. 

“Let us depart, my dear girl.”

As she rode into the rising moons, she felt freer then she had in months.

It was time to execute justice.

* * *

The note, to be sent directly to Muiri, was written on parchment that had faded to yellow, its words slightly smudged:

_It is done._

A dark handprint followed.

Astrid was satisfied with the job she’d done. Alain Dufont met his karmic end, and Nilsine Shatter-Shield lost her life to a poisoned arrow to the back of the head. It was, all in all, a clean affair, one that she was certain would please whatever ancient entity she was supposed to revere as a leader of the Brotherhood.

The little Breton would be pleased as well, of course. That, Astrid could guarantee. She sat back in her chair and smiled at the memory of their time together. For such a tiny woman, she certainly had a lot of spirit—perhaps Astrid would pay her a special visit later on. The Dark Brotherhood had been running awfully low on members as of late.

She just needed three “volunteers” and an abandoned shack…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! And a big thank you to [mimosa-supernova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/mimosa-supernova) for the wonderful beta job on this.


End file.
